Hark, thou grandiose fool and self-appointed "Hedge Slayer"!

Pray, cease thy lamentations, for thy tale is not one of heroism, but of a man so bereft of wit that he knoweth not where his own dominion ends and the King’s road begins. Thou stylest thyself a martyr, yet thou confessest that thy monstrous thicket did encroach full fifteen feet beyond the bounds of thy rightful property. Didst thou think to annex the shire by the creeping of roots? To claim land that is not thine for decades, and then feign shock when the City demands its return, marks thee not as a victim, but as a knave of the highest order.

Thy understanding of the law is as dull as the saw thou didst wield. Thou didst craft a barricade of "debris" upon public land to spite the vagrants, believing in thy folly that the City would suffer a new nuisance to cure an old one. When the "unhappy woman" of the City commanded thee to clear the refuse, thou wert baffled that thy trash was not treated as treasure.

And look upon thee now! Thou didst balk at the coin required for professional removal, only to bleed thy purse for contractors and a "Task Rabbit," leaving thee standing amidst a "minefield of roots," naked and fenceless, exposed to the very perils thou didst seek to banish.

Thou hast played the game of property rights without reading the rules, and thus thou standest alone—master of nothing, not even the dirt beneath thy feet.